


Awake to You

by Juno_Darling



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Happy Ending, Love Story, M/M, Romance, Slow Burn, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 08:22:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29756805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Juno_Darling/pseuds/Juno_Darling
Summary: A desperately romantic love story about the Prince of Slytherin and his brave heroic Gryffindor.
Relationships: Neville Longbottom/Draco Malfoy
Kudos: 14





	Awake to You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco Malfoy has suffered an accident which leaves him unconscious.  
> He awakens to a life he does not remember and a love he cannot recall.

_Draco, my love, please wake up._

_Please, Draco ... please._

The voice was sad —wretchedly so; grief-stricken and desperate.

_You’ve got to wake up. You simply must._

It wasn’t familiar, the voice; a man’s, broken and weary, as though he’d been calling Draco’s name for far too long with no response.

_Please ... I can’t lose you._

_No,_ Draco decided, he’d been wrong. This voice _was_ familiar. And it was comforting _—oh so comforting._ That was good, Draco thought, because it was then he felt the pain creeping into his consciousness. His body pulsed with agony and his head suffered lightning bolts of pain. This made him frown deeply and he needed to open his eyes, but they felt too heavy and uncooperative, which turned his frown into a grimace.

 _What happened?_ he wondered, feeling so angry he could cry. Was he in Azkaban being tortured? Perhaps Voldemort had succeeded in ending his life and he was in some sort of hell —trapped inside his own body, unable to move, suffering from head to toe; and with nothing but his thoughts to keep him company for eternity. _What a perfect hell for my sins._

Nothing tormented Draco more than his own self-deprecating thoughts —that inner voice which carried his father’s rueful disappointment and his mother’s contrite speculation, always expecting more than he could sanely manage. And perhaps most abhorrent was his own befuddled self-talk, invading his every thought, plaguing his sleep, forming his emotions, and beguiling him to commit shameful actions —all to please his parents. How absurd.

Draco could not bear this hell. He needed out. He began to panic.

There was a moan in pain, which he did not recognize as his own, and it made his throat burn. His brow pinched in agony, which sent a wave of pain throughout his head. Draco swallowed, his swollen throat contracting as though telling him not to do that again.

He longed for his mother.

There was another moan, frightened and searching for safety.

“Draco! Are you awake?” a man’s voice called emphatically.

Draco knew that voice! He did! Oh, why wouldn’t his eyes open? That voice would save him.

“Draco, love, please wake up. I’m here, love, please wake up.”

 _I’m trying!_ Draco thought angrily, annoyed with the voice that seemed to do nothing more than call his name to help him. _Open my bloody eyes for me, then! Pull me from this hell immediately!_

“Draco,” the voice broke into a sob, “please open your eyes.”

Draco’s eyelids fluttered, still weighted by some cruel relentless force.

“Please.”

Draco wanted nothing more than to obey the voice. The man was suffering and Draco could bear it no longer. He felt he would do anything to abate the man’s frightened desperation.

“My darling ... my darling, darling Draco,” he wept.

 _Don’t cry,_ Draco thought, anxious to comfort him. _I cannot bear it._

“I love you,” the voice whispered shakily, followed by mournful sobbing, lamenting his name like a mantra or a desperate futile prayer. “I love you, Draco. Draco... Draco... Draco...”

Draco was then sure he loved this man in return. He’d never been more sure of anything in his life.

 _I love you too,_ he longed to say. _Please don't cry._

Then Draco felt his eyes begin to stutter and gradually light emerged into his consciousness. It was too bright and it pierced his brain, but he needed to get to it. His heart began to pound as he fought against the weight, terrified that he would never wake again. The fear made him nauseous and for a brief moment he was sure he’d vomit, but he didn’t dare let his eyes rest for fear of losing control. He had to wake.

Everything was stark white. There should be something, he thought, some color, some form, some presence. He was in hell, he panicked; a void, an eternity of nothingness. But then a shape began to materialize —dark and faint and calling out to him.

“I’m here, Draco, my love ... open your eyes ... for me. Please.”

Draco blinked furiously, willing his eyes to focus. He needed that voice, that man calling him back to reality; the man caressing Draco’s cheeks, squeezing his hand, desperately trying to draw him into consciousness.

“Draco!” he sobbed.

“S’okay,” Draco heard himself say. His voice sounded hollow and muted, as though the words echoed right back into his own mind, refusing to land upon the man’s ears. He needed to comfort him. He loved him. Draco swallowed, grimacing, and he heard himself whine, “Don’t cry.”

The fog in his brain was steadily lifting as he fought to get to the man. _Help me,_ Draco prayed to him. Then, he then felt lips upon his own, placing a tender kiss as an offering of desperation.

“I love you, Draco ... please,” he whispered upon his lips. He felt the man’s tears land upon his face.

All at once the black hole in Draco’s mind spit him out, thrusting him from the void into reality. He drew in a quick deep breath, a sharp gasp as though he’d just been born, filling his lungs and nearly choking on the air. His eyes, wide with fear, darted around the room.

“Draco, oh my god, you’re awake.”

Draco, panting and frightened, met the face of a man standing over him. He was a towering handsome man with a weary face and a brow pinched with worry, yet his eyes, exhausted with tears, shone with elation, matching an ecstatic smile. He was holding Draco’s hand in a familiar intimate way that left Draco confused.

 _Why_ was a bloke holding his hand? What was this? Why? And who?

Draco felt himself sneer in disgust. He yanked his hand away, swiftly taking hold of the man’s wrist and squeezing painfully, a punishment for his presumptuous violation.

He narrowed his eyes and glared. “Who the bloody hell do you think you are?” Draco growled. His hand twitched, looking for a wand he somehow knew wasn’t there.

The handsome man frowned deeply and softly pulled his arm free from Draco’s loosening grip. His kind eyes drowned in sadness. Draco didn’t want that. It made him feel horrid, the same feeling he got when something didn’t go his way.

“It’s me, love,” the man said, almost pleading, as though nothing more than the sound of his shaky voice should tell Draco who ‘me’ was. “It’s me. Don’t you know me?”

The man leaned in close, forcing Draco to inspect him. His scruffy, dark brown hair —almost black— was long overdue for a haircut. It suited his face, sallow and in need of a shave. Despite these ‘flaws’ the man was devastatingly handsome. He had a strong jaw, a charmingly crooked nose, and bright eyes the color of grass in the spring; eyes that locked onto Draco’s soul.

“Draco?” his voice cracked, a prayer that this was all just a bad dream for both of them.

All at once it came to Draco, peering into the man’s profound green eyes. He knew this man. That face. His voice. Draco knew everything. There was no question —but then, Draco couldn’t say or bring any of it to mind, every detail hidden in some far recess of his mind. All he could recall was a name. A name that left him puzzled, yet somehow exceedingly relieved.

“Longbottom?”


End file.
